Page 59 of Black and Silver

Minerva laughed in a way that was so free it made his heart light and his groin tight. “I think I have dressed in black enough,” she said. “From henceforth, I shall have my seamstress construct all of my future gowns in the Swedish style. I think blue and silver would be attractive colors for me.”

Lawrence smiled, moving his hand to caress her heated face. “Any colors would be beautiful on you, my love,” he said, then arched one eyebrow. “Or no colors at all.”

Minerva laughed again, and at last, Lawrence slanted his head to take what he really wanted from her.

She moved easily into his kiss, tightening her arms around him as their lips played together, lightly at first, then with more insistence. That was not enough, and as soon as he was confident that Minerva wanted their kiss as much as he did, he parted her lips to slide his tongue against hers.

Minerva sighed and sagged into him even more, giving him the opportunity to use his strength to keep her upright and to stop the two of them from falling. He had never considered himself a strong man, in body or in character, but Minerva made him feel as though he could challenge Atlas himself. She had made him strong, and she had made him clever. With her, he felt as if he could either conquer the world or at least make up an amusing story about it.

“Minerva,” he sighed, shifting her to the side so that he could push her back up against the wall next to the arrow-slit.

“Lawrence,” she echoed, lifting one of her legs to hook around his hip.

Within moments, they were enjoying more than a simple kiss. The way their mouths mated turned ravenous. The sounds that both of them made echoed through the tower, most likely shocking the spirits of his ancestors. Lawrence did not care a whit for any of them. He tugged at Minerva’s leg to bring it higher and pushed up the soft fabric of her skirt so that he could slip his hand over her stocking and up her thigh.

Minerva let out a plaintive sound as his fingers stretched across the flesh between the top of her stockings and her thin drawers. He didn’t stop there, though. As his mouth continued to tease and tempt hers in possessive kisses, he delved his fingers under the cotton of her drawers to find her already wet sex.

“Dear God, yes,” Minerva sighed, rolling her head back against the stone wall behind her.

Lawrence growled in victory at her wanton manner, loving every wicked moment of it. He pulled aside her fichu with his teeth so that he could kiss and savor her breast. While one hand continued its work between her legs, his other tugged at the top of her bodice enough to expose one pebbled nipple.

He went right for it, kissing and suckling her and teasing her with his tongue as he slipped two fingers into her channel and used his thumb to rub her clitoris. The effect was stunning, and in no time, Minerva was writhing and panting and moaning as she rode his attentions hard and fast toward her pleasure.

She erupted with a deep cry, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Her sex squeezed around his fingers, causing him to smile against her breast. If she thought his ability to bring her to orgasm in a drafty tower was exciting, she would be even more surprised and delighted by what he could do when they had the luxury of a soft bed and time to play.

As soon as Minerva began to relax and come down from the heights of pleasure, Lawrence recaptured her mouth, kissing herwith a gentler insistence. Minerva melted into that, kissing him in return.

It was a beautiful moment, and Lawrence would have made the cheeky suggestion that they return to either her room or his and abandon the search for Clarence if the sound of a carriage arriving in the courtyard below had not drawn his attention.

“What the devil?” he muttered, pulling partly away from Minerva with a frown.

Minerva was still swimming in the aftermath of her pleasure and took a moment to return to the world, but as she shifted to stand on her own feet again and to tidy her fichu, she turned to peer out through the arrow-slit along with Lawrence.

The moment Lawrence had been dreading since they arrived at Godwin Castle was upon them. He and Minerva both watched with varying degrees of horror as the carriage stopped, the castle footmen stepped forward to assist, and as Lord Owen stepped down onto the cobblestones. Behind him came a grey-haired couple who looked around as though they had instantly decided Godwin Castle would be better off at the bottom of a bog.

“My parents,” Minerva said, suddenly anxious when she was crying in bliss just moments before. “And Owen.”

Lawrence reached an arm around her waist, holding her close. “They will not touch you,” he said. “I will not let them lay a hand, or a claim, on you.”

Minerva pushed away from the window and stared at him with wide eyes. “I do not know if you will be able to stop them,” she said. “Owen has the prior claim on me, and he has his special license.”

“Not if I get ahold of it he won’t,” Lawrence said, taking her hand and drawing her down the stairs. “I’ll tear it up and throw it into the fire, or I’ll scratch out his name and sign my own to it.”

“I do not think that would hold much weight in a London court,” Minerva said, a surprising amount of humor in her voice.

“Then I will run the usurping bastard through and we will escape to Sweden,” Lawrence said as they reached the ground floor and stepped out into one of the servants’ hallways. “You are already dressed for that life, after all.”

Minerva laughed. The sound was like a bolstering trumpet voluntary that spurred champions into battle. As long as he had Minerva with him, Lawrence could endure even the strongest claim to what he knew was his.

They hurried to the great hall, stopping along the way to freshen up enough so that no evidence of the mischief they’d just gotten up to remained, then continued on to the great room.

They were the last ones to arrive, which was, perhaps, fortunate. It meant Lord Gerald and Waldorf had already begun the battle.

“You cannot just walk into my father’s home in such a manner, demanding whatever you please,” Waldorf was in the middle of admonishing the three newcomers.

“You are harboring my bride,” Lord Owen argued in return. “She is mine by consent of her parents and by license of the Church of Wales. I have the license here to prove it.” He gestured for the bedraggled maid who had apparently come with them to produce the license in question.

“Lady Minerva is a woman,” Lord Gerald argued with an irritated frown, “not a business you wish to operate. A license means nothing in matters of the heart.”

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